


Bruises

by simplyoverstated



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Allusions to Violence, Depression, Pain, failed hurt/comfort, idk - Freeform, just a short story I came up with, self harm tw, super short, using the prompt in the summary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 23:11:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11701836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyoverstated/pseuds/simplyoverstated
Summary: A world where emotional injuries and traumas manifest themselves physically





	Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this while listening to "A Few Small Bruises" by Maria Mena

_Except for a few small bruises, cuts and scars, well I’m fine._

 

            Ben flitted his fingers over the dark bruises on her arms. They looked painful, and she winced.

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

            “Well, you did. It’s done.” He knew she wasn’t talking about just now. These were from before, from that night. How were they still so dark? He felt shame rise in his cheeks and stay there.

            “Did I do all of this?”

            “It was a long time coming. It wasn’t just you. You didn’t load the gun, you just pulled the trigger.” He thought about this for a moment. Usually arguments showed up as slight bruises or scratches. He had never seen them this bad before.

            “I don’t understand.”

            “I know you don’t.” She looked sadly up at him. There was no anger in her gaze, but he felt as though she had yelled at him. He might have preferred that. An aching began in his chest. He wanted out. This was too painful. He knew that was selfish of him; his bruises were small, his injuries minor. But he wanted to be alone.

            “I shouldn’t be here. I need to go.” She didn’t say anything as he grabbed his bag and crossed over to the door. He turned, and for a moment she thought he was going to say something else. But he just looked at her, frowning, and then he was gone.

            Despite herself, Emily felt a tear slide down her cheek, burning her skin as it went. She was used to the pain; she could handle it. All growing up she had worn long sleeves to hide the marks on her skin, left after every alcohol-fueled argument with her father, and every criticism from her mother. Other kids had them too. She was drawn to them, and they to her. They understood each other.

 

            It wasn’t easy to bruise someone. It didn’t just take a passing insult or a cruel look. It hurt when someone really meant their hatred, when they spat it at you like fire from their souls. It hurt more when you loved the person, when they meant something to you. Emily loved and hated her father, and he looked at her with a disgust that cut like knives. She tried desperately to not love him, to not care, to build up a wall around herself. But there were the moments between the insults when she felt that he really did care about her, that he didn’t just see her as an inconvenience. If anything she hated this version of him more, because it made it that much more difficult to survive the bad times.

            Her mother was no better. Emily craved her approval more than anything, but it was rarely given. Emily was never polite enough, never clean enough, never mature enough to meet her standards. Where her father was annoyed at her very existence, her mother was on a constant crusade to improve everything about her.

            The bruises came in those moments of pure emotion, when her father said something he meant from the bottom of his heart, when she was most vulnerable. _Sometimes I think you’re just a lost cause, Emily. I’m too tired to deal with you today._ Once or twice his words cut her open; not deep, but enough to split her skin and lay open the nerves below. _Sometimes I wish we hadn’t had any kids. You’re ungrateful. You’re not worth it._ That one had been on a particularly bad night. The next day, Emily had bled through the sleeves of her jumper. The scars never quite went away.

 

            She knew Ben meant well. He didn’t mean to hurt her. But she was starting to think that, for her own protection, she might have to be alone for a while. There was just a point when a person was hurt too many times to trust anyone fully.


End file.
